


Misearbile Visu (Ex Malo Bonum)

by brokenballoons (Xazz)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, Fantasy, Kinkmeme, Knights - Freeform, M/M, Werewolves, Witches, sword and sorcery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-03
Updated: 2012-07-13
Packaged: 2017-11-06 16:56:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/421184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xazz/pseuds/brokenballoons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Lycan and Hunter clans have been in the middle of a blood feud for over a hundred years. The kingdom stands constantly on the brink of a small scale civil war. Scott and Stiles are friends despite the prejudice about human and werewolf relationships. When the King notices that they'd rather play then fight he takes notice. It's probably in no ones best interest when he does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for [this prompt](http://teenwolfkink.livejournal.com/2069.html?thread=377877#t377877) over on the Teen Wolf kinkmeme.
> 
> As this is my first time writing for this fandom it'd be super cool if anyone had anything to say about characterizations. I'm not quite sure my Stiles is... Stilesy enough :/

Stiles has been told, since before he can remember, about the two clans, and their nearly-war that raged within the kingdom. People always said that if they wanted to the witches could put an end to the silly feud within a week, but witches did nothing without real reason, or unless there was something in it for them. So the blood feud continued. It had been for a hundred years, some years the Lycans would be on top, other years the Hunters would gain more power, more numbers. For a brief five years back before Stiles was born the werewolf clan had almost been wiped out. The Hunters called them a persistent cancer and no matter how much you killed them off, if just _one_ survived, so would the clan.

To the normal people both families were equally as dangerous. The Lycans would kill you or turn you, and the Hunters, if they caught wind of you  even speaking with a werewolf would arrest you and maybe torture you. To people like Stiles and his family there really wasn’t a difference, they were both at opposite ends of a worthless blood feud that the royalty still allowed because as of yet no one innocent had actually been hurt, aside those who were turned, but even they usually wanted it. Some people had strange ideas about werewolves and they wanted the bite. 

In short, to everyone except themselves, neither clan better then the other.

—

Stiles was six and he was playing outside as it got dark. He heard his mother call him inside. It was the day before the full moon. Those nights people locked their doors and windows tight. Nights of the full moon were so called Howling Nights, because you could hear them. You could always hear them. Packs calling to each other across vast distances, or even just pack members calling to one another, deeper and louder then any wolf.

“Stiles!” his mother called him, standing at the door of their home, hand cupped to her mouth. But Stiles didn’t see her, he was in the woods twenty paces away. Not deep in the woods, he could still see his house if he turned, but that was irrelevant. He’d seen something and Stiles was never one to ignore things, he was too curious. His mother said that one day his curiosity would get him into trouble. He didn’t listen of course, he was a big kid, and didn’t need his mommy to coddle him (even if he really did like snuggling up next to her by the hearth). Besides, he could still see the house!

He heard her call him again, but he continued into the woods. He was about twenty paces in when a twig snapped. He stilled and looked around, twisting around and almost falling over his own two feet as he did so. He wasn’t the most graceful six year old ever. Then, in a bush, he saw them. Eyes that glowed golden and a growl that made the leaves rattle. He swallowed and almost screamed. Almost. That mainly had to do with the fact that he was busy trying to turn and run but he ended up slipping on the leaves and fell, face planting into the leaves.

A giggle came from the bush and the golden eyes vanished. “It’s not that funny,” Stiles huffed, more to himself as he got to his feet and wiped off the dewy and half moldy leaves and dirt from his shirt and pants.

“Yeah it was,” came the crisp reply from the bush. He stared at it and squinted at it. “You should be afraid,” the bush said.

“I’m not afraid of no bush,” Stiles said sternly and folded his arms over his chest.

A face pushed itself out of the bush. It was a boy, no older then him, with brown eyes and brown hair, a bit of dirt on his face. “You afraid now?” he asked.

“I’d probably be more so if you didn’t look like you’d just crawled around on my mother’s broom,” he said with a smile. The boy smiled back at him. “Do you live around here?” he asked the boy.

“Yes,” he said. “And you live in that house,” he pointed towards the tree line only so many paces away. “You shouldn’t be talking to me, you’ll get in trouble-

“I’m Stiles, what’s your name?” cause he wasn’t afraid of werewolves if all werewolves were like this boy, and he certainly wasn’t afraid of no Hunter either.

The boy hesitated, “I’m Scott,” he said and licked his lips. “What sort of name is Stiles anyway?”

“An awesome one is what!” he exclaimed. The boy laughed.

“Stiles!” his mother called again.

“Isn’t that your mama?” Scott asked him, peering around the trees a bit to see the house, though the view was chopped up by the foliage.

“Yeah. But she won’t get angry with me till after it gets dark.”

“Oh,” Scott looked down, suddenly self conscious. “I expect that’s cause of us, that your mama would be worried,” he looked apologetic.

“And the Hunters,” Stiles said, “they’re just as mean and nasty as you Lycans and— oh, sorry. Sorry, I didn’t mean it,” he took a step towards the other boy who looked hurt by the comment. “You’re both kinda scary though. In a good way!” Stiles continued and now was just rambling. “I mean how cool is it to be able to go out at night? My mom and dad always make me come inside, they get scared. But I’m not scared! It’s just the woods and I know the woods like the back of my hand. Though I bet you know it better huh? Hunters probably know it better too. But you know it better then them right? Cause I heard that Lycans live in the forests and even the Hunters get all nervous during Howling Nights cause they know you guys are out there, doing… whatever it is you do.”

Scott was grinning a little now and Stiles smiled big and broad at him. “Stiles!” his mother called him again.

“You should go,” Scott said, “it’s almost dark.”

“Man, didn’t you hear a word I said? I ain’t scared of the dark, or the woods or you werewolves,” he said bravely.

“Scott!” they both jumped and turned. Standing on a bit of a rise, some paces away, was another werewolf. Stiles knew he was because only werewolves could look that brooding, or so he’d been told. He was older then the both of them, barely a teenager, with short black hair, and he wore the Lycan colors of a page, or a squire. He swallowed. There were werewolves, and then there were Lycan knights, he’d seen some, once, when the king had paraded through the country for the anniversary of some sort. Lycan knights were said to be the biggest and best knights in the kingdom, and they didn’t ride horses, and could take down other mounted knights with their bare hands. “Get away from him,” the squire said, but his dark eyes were glaring at Stiles.

“Ah- yeah, okay, I’m coming,” Scott looked from the squire to Stiles, who was still staring, unable to look away. It was one thing to say he wasn’t scared, it was another thing all together to actually _not be_ scared. “Bye Stiles,” he said and then took a few steps away, “Go home. Be safe,” he tried to smile, all he managed was something like a grimace.

Stiles tore his eyes from the squire. “Yeah. Bye,” he said and Scott walked over to the older boy who put a hand on his shoulder and leaned down a bit to say something. At this distance Stiles couldn’t hear though. He watched Scott nod slowly, shoulders hunched forward, head down submissively.

“Stiles! Come inside this instant!” his mother yelled again and he looked back to the house. He turned around but both Scott and the squire were already gone. He hadn’t even heard them, which was strange, since it was autumn and the leaves always made noise. 

He frowned, and worried his lower lip with his teeth before twisting and going back to the tree line. His mother looked very happy to see him when he emerged from the woods and she hustled him inside for dinner. After dinner his father barred the doors and windows. When it was finally dark they started to hear the howling. Stiles wondered which one of them was Scott.

—

He ran. Fast. Behind him Stiles could heard the sounds of someone chasing him, gaining. Huffing, puffing, ignoring the ache in his side from a cramp he just kept sprinting. He jumped, cleared a fallen tree, but mistook the height, he ended up hitting the ground hard about two feet below the tree. Quickly he scrambled into the lee of the rise and forced his heart to stop beating so loudly. After so many years he was rather good at it.

His pulse dropped, and he listened, hard. The boots pounded after him and he heard them kick off from the tree. He looked up in time to see his pursuer jump twenty feet and land in a crouch. Damn werewolves. He rose, slowly, sniffing and Stiles shifted, to get ready to run, lucky he even had this short of reprieve to catch his breathe and calm his heart.

Then, his pursuer turned around, snapping a few twigs and grinned when they saw him pressed up against the moss covered rise. Stiles didn’t think, he just bolted. His own boots slipped for a moment on the moss before finding traction and he was off again, nearly stumbling over his own two feet in an effort to get away.

This time though, he wasn’t so lucky. The werewolf crashed into him and they went tumbling to the spring green ground. He was immediately shoved onto his back. “Caught ya,” Scott said, a big, wide, grin nearly splitting his face in two.

“Yeah well it isn’t really my fault you got freaky super human werewolf powers now is it?” Stiles said. “Still, managed to keep away longer then usual.”

“Mmmhmmm,” Scott nodded, still pinning him, grinning. “But, I always catch you,” and he playfully snapped his teeth, human teeth, at Stiles.

Stiles rolled his eyes, “Oh, however will I escape the blood thirsty werewolf?” he said in a dry, sarcastic tone.

Scott grinned at him and leaned down and pressed their lips together briefly. “Like you’d want to,” he teased relentlessly and then picked himself off Stiles and helped him to his feet as well. His back was a bit damp from dew and the rain they had all the town. Beacon Hills was one the wettest areas in the entire kingdom, getting rain at least three days of the week on good weeks, and seven days of the week on day weeks. Hunters didn’t really like Beacon Hills, tracking was hard, and for the most party people were peaceful, even the branch of the Lycan clan here was usually rather quiet. They were out of the way and didn’t cause trouble, the almost-war never came here. It was probably also the only place a werewolf and a human could be friends and more then friends.

Stiles stretched, cracked his back. “You’re going to kill me. I swear,” Stiles bitched. “One day going to break my back, and then where’d you be? Out of a best friend is what.”

Scott rolled his eyes, “I’m careful,” he said with a huff and wrapped an arm around his waist. “And I won’t be able to see you for a few days,” he added with a pout. Full moon was coming. During those night, the Howling Nights, Stiles didn’t see Scott, even during the day. He was always more moody, always quicker to anger, easier too. Scott tried, he really did, but they were what they were. The reason they worked was because Stiles didn’t care.

“You’ll live, somehow. I don’t know how, but you will,” Stiles grinned jokingly at him. “Going to catch me again?”

Scott sighed, “No, can’t, as much as I love that,” and as he said it he pressed his nose into the crook of his neck. “Stuff, pack stuff, tonight.”

“But it isn’t- oh, never mind,” while Stiles hadn’t been looking it had started to get dark.

“I’ll walk you back. Not all my family is as nice as me, especially not this close to the full moon,” he was apologetic about it

“Hey, no, it’s fine. You know it is Scott,” Scott was always apologetic for his family, for what he was. As because of it they couldn’t really be together. It was just this weird… thing they had where they really were friends, good friends, despite the stigma about werewolves, even here in Beacon Hills, and sometimes they were a bit more then friends. Stiles tried not to think about it too much, Scott seemed perfectly okay with it. He figured it was a weird werewolf thing where it wasn’t odd to kiss or totally rub all over your friends. Stiles liked the attention, since it was good attention. He did get a lot of that lately.

They were nearing the edge of the wood, Scott holding his hand, near his house where he lived with his father, his mother had died, claimed by sickness, when Scott squeezed his hand and pulled him up short. “What’s wrong Scott?” he asked, trying to see what he saw, but in all likelihood Scott didn’t see it either, but he could _smell_ _it_. Freaky werewolf scenes. Sometimes cool, usually really damn annoying since he couldn’t hear, smell, see, what Scott did.

“There’s someone at your house. A bunch of someones,” his lips curled back from his lips, eyes going gold for a moment.

“Hey, hey,” Stiles jerked his arm, squeezed his hand. “None of that, it’s probably just friends of my dads, or something,” he shrugged. “Not like it’s Hunters or anything,” he scoffed. “It’s… not Hunters right?” he asked tentatively.

“No, it’s not,” Scott said after a few more seconds of scenting the air.

“Great! Then lets go find out who it is,” and he let go of Scott’s hand and continued on. He broke the tree line and there were several men with horses milling about. They were really nice horses too with well made saddles and big and strong. The men who rode them wore the colors of the royal house, gold and purple with white royal lilies stitched onto their dark capes. They were King’s Own. He swallowed.

“Uh-oh,” he turned and saw Scott behind him, but not out of the woods. “Uh, I’ll see you in a few days Stiles, after the full moon. I hope,” he asked, grimacing.

“Can you just… stay here, just in case?” Stiles asked, usually he was braver then this. But _Kings Own_ were standing at his house and, he realized, talking with his father. Scott nodded and he jogged over to them, Scott retreated into the woods again. “Dad?” he asked carefully, eyeing the purple and golden knights warily as he moved towards his father.

“Stiles, there you are. Where have you been?” his father tried to sound stern, but they both knew where Stiles was, he’d been with Scott, where else would he have been if not helping his father with work?

“Aaah, checking some traps I set,” he said wondering if he was as good a lier as he hoped. He couldn’t lie to Scott, he didn’t bother, Scott knew when he lied. He then hoped that there were no Lycan members in his group of King’s Own, they’d know in an instant if he was lying.

And like the God was being particularly spiteful, the King’s Own his father had been talking to turned to another at his side. “Lie,” he said. “Scott, come out of the woods, I know you’re there,” he added, his tone conversational. Stiles blanched, but didn’t bother to say Scott wasn’t there. If this guy was a Lycan knight there was no way he wouldn’t know Scott was there.

Scott slunk out of the woods and over to them with the metaphorical tail between his legs and belly to the ground. Had they not been surrounded by King’s Own he wondered if Scott would really roll onto his back. He’d seen it once, in town, though not by Scott, but some other werewolves, putting an omega in their place. He’d gotten right on his back there in front of everyone submissively until the beta had let him up. Not for the first time Stiles thought werewolves were weird, not bad, just weird.

The Lycan knight grinned, a wolf grin, not a human one and Scott lowered his head, shoulders hunched. They were obviously both betas, but Scott knew where in this pecking order he stood. “There we go,” the Lycan knight nodded once at the leader of the group of King’s Own.

“So now that you obviously have us both where you want us,” Stiles started and even when he felt his father give him a look it didn’t make him stop. “What’re you going to do with us? Cause I’d really prefer to not be outside after dark if it’s all the same,” and he pointed at the sun, it had sunk beneath the tree line, but had yet to set. The humans of the King’s Own group looked a bit wary, the Lycan knight just grinned and Scott looked damn near uncomfortable. They all knew the new few nights were Howling Nights.

The leader cleared his throat, “His majesty, King Adrien Harris has sent us, to retrieve the both of you,” he said.

Scott definitely looked uncomfortable now, thankfully Stiles was there to talk for the both of them. “Are we in trouble? You going to lock us up or something? Cause that is really not preferred.”

The leader didn’t look amused, Stiles just frowned, but one that wasn’t exactly unhappy, he was still unbalanced and his eyes were wide, expectant. “No,” the leader said. “He’s in fact invited you both to the castle, as guests.”

“Guests?” Scott barked, stunned.

“Yes,” the Lycan knight said and Scott closed his mouth, somehow that one word also amounted to ‘shut up boy’. It didn’t work on Stiles however.

“Why?”

“The King has heard of you. You’re friends are you not?”

Scott and Stiles glanced at each other, “Yes,” Stiles said truthfully, it’d do no good to lie, the Lycan knight would know.

The leader of the King’s Own smiled, it was a rather nice smile. “Then the King has extended an invitation to you. To come to the palace and stay for a time.”

“Do we have a-

His father covered his mouth, “They would be honored. Wouldn’t you boys?” he asked them. Stiles nodded, his father’s hand still over his mouth.

“You are, of course, welcome to come as well Mr. Stilinsky,” said the leader, “and you may invite some members of your pack as well Scott, if you wish,” he added to him.

“Ah— you may have to tell this to my Alpha, he won’t believe me if I just tell him the King has invited me to come to the palace.”

The leader looked at the Lycan knight, he nodded, the Lycan knight would take care of that. “It will be arranged. You’ll accompany us back to the capital, after the full moon.”

“Of course, sir,” Stiles’ father for them, though he’d removed the hand from Stiles’ mouth, which was a good thing. “How long will we be staying?”

The knight looked at them, “Until the king decides you may leave,” and Stiles _really_ didn’t like the sound of that.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I realized that while I can write characters like Stiles, I can't really do so from their POV. So the rest of the story is probs ganna be from Derek's POV cause I understand characters like him better. Enjoy.

It was a heady rush as he shoved the other werewolf into the dirt. Their eyes glowed yellow, shock yellow like the skin of a lemon, and for a moment Derek was sure they were going to shift, the hands wrestling against him gaining small pricking claws. But then, they pulled it back, the yellow dimmed a bit and then they were trying to outmuscle each other on the field. It turned into a scrabbling match as they twisted about on the ground, neither having a care for their clothes, though they weren’t even wearing shirts to begin with. Lycan knights didn’t spar in armor like other knights did, it would just slow them down. They might go into battle with it on but often they finished out a fight nearly naked.

Finally he got his hands around the throat of the other werewolf and pressed hard. They gasped and scrapped at his face and chest. Derek just pushed harder, eyes glowing blue, waiting for the sign of his submission.

“Enough!” a voice rang out and just like that he released the other squire who gasped and wheezed, hand up to his throat. He looked towards the knight who’d called him to heel, one of their own of course, a wolf by the name of Sir Robert Finstock, he led most of the training exercises for squires, Lycan or otherwise. “Get up Hale,” he barked, hands on his hips his hair crazy and windswept making him look possibly as dangerous as he really was. Derek wasn’t quite sure about their Battle Master, but if he had the position he had to assume he’d earned it.

Derek pushed himself up and off the other squire and then reached down to help him up. It took the squire a minute, still recovering from Derek nearly choking him to death, but then he grabbed Derek’s hand and was hauled upwards.

“Good footwork Hale,” Sir Finstock was saying, “and you, Shepherd, what the hell was that?” he continued in a yell.

“Sorry, sir,” Anthony Shepherd said with a bowed head as they walked over to both the Battle Master and the other squires. Soon they wouldn’t be squires though, but full knights. Thinking about it left Derek with restless energy sitting just under his skin. He couldn’t wait to finally be a real Lycan knight, and not just play at it.

Sir Finstock scowled a little, “Try not to do it again Shepherd,” he commanded. Anthony just kept quiet, knowing better then to say anything. Derek and he were back with their peers now and not a few heads looked up when it started to rain. Sir Finstock just seemed in a better mood for it and ordered two more squires out onto the dampening field to fight.

Derek closed his eyes as the fight began. Rain always reminded him of home, Beacon Hills, where it rained almost all the time. He hadn’t been back there in a while except briefly when his sister had died. Died and sent Derek to Sir Finstock with the rest of the unclaimed squires who other knights either didn’t want or didn’t care about. He hated it, he was better then all of them and none of them gave him a real challenge. His sister had been a knight, because the Lycan clan let any member be a knight, unlike humans who only let that title go to men, and she’d wanted him. Now it was like he was untouchable. Soon it wouldn’t matter, soon he’d be a knight himself.

“Out of season,” his eyes opened when one of his peers spoke, Travis though he couldn’t recall his surname.

“What?” he asked, head cocked slightly.

“The rain. It’s out of season,” Travis said, crouching in the damp earth that was quickly turning into the mud. From the field there was a snarl and a loud yelp and his eyes flicked to the field where one of the fighting squires had curled up into a ball before rolling onto his stomach, head back. Submissive. The other squire had won.

He turned back to Travis, “It’s just rain,” he said.

Travis grinned a wolf grin at him, one that seemed to stretch back to his ear. “Or maybe it’s something else,” he said.

“It’s just rain,” Derek said again firmly. “I know rain, it’s just rain.”

Travis chuckled, “That’s right. I forget you’re from that water clogged backwoods,” and for that Derek pulled his foot out from under him and he fell onto his ass in the mud. Travis glared at him, Derek glared back and Travis looked down.

“Gerkin,” Sir Finstock suddenly snapped, “What the hell are you doing ass down on the ground?”

“Ah, nothing Sir Finstock, I just slipped is all,” and he quickly got back to his feet, though his pants were stained with mud. 

Travis was sent out to the field now, with another squire, a small one who looked weak and soft. Derek eyed the smaller one. “Did you hear?” he was distracted from the fight by two squires talking.

“Hear what?”

“About his majesty’s guests?”

“He always has guests,” the second one sighed.

“The new ones. That kid and his human friend-

“Bull shit,” they growled. Werewolves and humans, even if they weren’t Hunters, didn’t usually get along. Humans were weak, and werewolves tended to scare humans.

“No it’s true,” a third one suddenly chimed in. “Saw them myself. They came in this morning. Some beta and his human friend. The court was all a titter about it.”

“I don’t believe it,” the second one said firmly.

“Why not?” asked the first.

“Because what sort of self respecting werewolf would make friends with a human?” they asked.

“Hey,” Derek growled, “Watch what you say. Some of our kind are born human, and chose to stay that way,” his eyes narrowed at him. He had a cousin who was born human and liked it like that. But he was still one of the Beacon Hills pack, even if he couldn’t change. Most people didn’t even know he wasn’t actually a werewolf, he acted just like one of them.

“Yeah but that’s different,” the second one said. “They’re one of us, just without the teeth, claws, and anger problems,” and they all had a chuckle at that. Even the hardest, most well trained werewolf sometimes had trouble controlling the shift when they were angry enough.

“Oi, princesses,” Sir Finstock suddenly barked, startling the lot of them. “Gossiping is bad for the image, pay attention to what’s going on.”

“Yes sir, sorry sir,” they mumbled, even Derek. He didn’t want to see what would happen if Sir Finstock ever got angry, or even shifted. He knew the Battle Master was an alpha, not the Alpha, but an alpha, and they could be terrifying.

“Good. Hale, you’re up,” he said and wondered when it’d been his turn again. Probably because he was one of the last ones to be speaking. His theory was proven right when the other boy, ‘Stevenson’, was put up against him, the one who’d made the joke about anger problems.

“Try not to strangle me, eh?” Stevenson asked over the sound of the now heavy rain on the grass with a amiable sort of grin.

“Then don’t let me,” was all Derek said.

Stevenson smirked, “Charmer,” and then Sir Finstock yelled at them to stop chit chatting and to get on with it.

Stevenson went right for the throat.

—

Derek pulled himself out of the bath, not wanting to, but the water was starting to get cold. After practice that was all he’d wanted to do, was take a bath because he and the rest of the squires had been so muddy you could barely tell one from the other. The training had ended in a sort of free for all, scrambling in the mud, not trying to pin or hurt, but just for the hell of it, the fun of being part of a group. Then Sir Finstock had yelled at them all and kicked them off the training field. They’d gone, pushing and shoving and Derek had found himself to a bath after scraping off as much of the mud as he could.

It was still raining outside, a hard rain that washed the color out of the world and even the forest he could see outside his window was a dull shade of gray. For a blind second he thought he was back at Beacon Hills. He felt an itch at the end of his fingers before shaking his head and getting dressed. This wasn’t Beacon Hills.

He dressed, his tunic the colors of the Lycan clan, dark gray and silver and the insignia of his pack and his clan on his chest above his heart. A silver ring outside of a golden crescent for the clan taking up the upper left of the invisible square, and a white stag with red eyes taking up the rest, a silver moon nested in it’s antlers. He was one of the only squires to have two moons on his markings as the Beacon Hills pack was small, and didn’t often send boys or girls to be made into knights. He was the only one currently from Beacon Hills, but there were other packs who had moons in their designs, not many, but some.

Dressed he left his room, buckling his short sword into place as he did. He found Travis at the end of the hall dressed the same as him but with a red wolf rampart seeming to devour the clan symbol. “What?” he asked, the other boy was looking down the hall with interest, though not moving.

“New kid,” he said. Derek followed his eyes to some of the younger squires giving some new boy a good natured hard time.

“Hey,” Derek called and they all looked at him, realizing they’d been caught and an instant later scattered, not wanting to get in trouble. The new boy shook his head as if to rid it of water and he went over to him, Travis peeled himself off the wall and followed him.

As he got closer a familiar scent crashed over him. It smelled of rain and warmth and family and under it was the personal scent of someone he knew. “Scott?” he asked, confused.

Indeed it was Scott and when Derek said his name his head whipped around and up to look at him. “Derek?” he said in surprise. They hadn’t seen each other since Laura’s funeral and even then hadn’t really talked.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, Scott wasn’t a squire, and had never wanted to be a knight. He was content to just live with the Beacon Hills pack, doing work, learning how to heal from his mother, and play tag with his pack mates.

“Uh-

“You know him, Hale?” Travis asked, coming up beside him, one hand on his belt.

“He’s in my pack,” Derek said, still confused but doing his best not to show it. “What are you doing here Scott?” he asked again.

“Here here, or just _here_ in general?”

“Both,” he said, slightly exasperated. He could feel Travis next to him looking amused.

“Erm, well. The king invited me.”

“No way,” Travis said. “You’re that one with the squishy human for a friend?” and then he laughed unkindly. Scott growled at him, showing fang. Scott always did have a terrible time controlling himself. Travis just growled right back, his dull eyes flashing a sort of brilliant green that was on par with Derek’s own in otherworldliness. Scott backed off immediately, even his eyes fading from gold back to brown. Even he knew better then to mess with a squire of the Lycan clan this close to becoming a knight. “A freak with a pet, cute,” Travis sneered.

“He isn’t a pet,” Scott growled.

“Oh? So do you get to be the pet then? He put a collar on you like a dog?”

“He’s my friend, he’d never do that,” Scott said, his eyes going gold again. Derek just watched the two of them knowing Travis could get Scott to back down if required as he had before and knew Scott wasn’t actually that stupid to attack a Lycan knight.

Travis was an asshole though. “Heh. Not yet he hasn’t. I can smell the stink of him all over you, pup,” he sneered. “I wonder if he smells like you,” and Scott snapped his teeth at him. “You ever break covenant?”

At that Derek actually did step in, he smacked Travis hard, on the chest, sending him back a step. “That’s enough Travis,” he growled, hand still on his chest. “The covenant is a guideline, not a law. Now back off,” his eyes flashed blue. Travis eyed him, looked at Scott and then grinned, body going lax of any sort of hostility leaking from his body.

Travis shrugged, hands palms up, complacent. “Whatever you say Derek,” he said and then smirked at Scott. “Your pack mate should stay out of the knight’s quarters though. What are you doing here?” back to the original point it seemed.

Scott was swallowing back the change, trying to put his teeth back in order so that actually all fit inside his mouth again. The two squires watched as he lost the rest of his facial hair and he could close his mouth again properly. “I got lost,” he said, voice low, he was still on the edge, but holding it together.

“Ah well that seems plausible,” Travis at least didn’t deny it, not that there was anything to deny. Werewolves couldn’t lie to one another, or it was very hard to, as they could hear their heartbeat. Scott’s was steady, a bit quick from keeping himself in check, but steady. “Well why don’t I take you back where you belong then-

“No you won’t,” Derek interrupted. Travis looked at him, scowling. “I will,” he said firmly. There was no room for argument, as while they both held the same rank Derek was at the top of the squire’s pecking order, Travis was somewhere in the upper middle. Travis looked at him, looked at Scott, then nodded.

He stepped back, “Make sure your pack mate knows where to stay out of Derek. We’re not all as nice in rescuing a beta from squires,” and then he turned and walked away.

Derek and Scott watched him go. “Friend of yours?”Scott asked once he was out of polite hearing range.

“On good days,” Derek said and looked back at Scott before grabbing him by the back of the collar and dragging him down the hall.

“Hey! Derek! Would you just- I can walk- stop it!” he cried though Derek didn’t pay him any mind until they were in a more safe part of the palace.

“Walk,” he ordered and Scott scowled at him, but he went, knowing better then to really argue at a time like this. “You’re an idiot Scott,” he informed him.

“How do you think that?” Scott muttered.

“You should keep your tongue behind your teeth around knights,” he growled.

“You’re not a knight yet.”

Derek glared at him, “Soon, we will be, and Travis remembers infractions. Now do you remember where your rooms are?” Scott shook his head. Derek just sighed and took hold of Scotts arm to tow him along. Scott squawked and complained and Derek just ignored him, using his nose to follow his path from the knight’s wing to where Scott was being kept. “This it?” he asked once they were in front of a door.

Scott stared at him, then the door, trying not to look impressed. “Yes,” and he tugged his arm out of Derek’s firm grip. Derek just rolled his eyes a little and Scott tried the door. It was locked. Derek’s stare turned into a glower and Scott shrunk back a little. He knocked now.

A moment later the door opened to a boy, about Scott’s age, with a bread roll half way into his mouth. Derek gave him a slightly disturbed look. “Vott?” the boy, hair cropped short and tight to his skull and smelled like Beacon Hills, rain and wet earth and pine forests. He was looking wide eyed at first Scott then Derek and suddenly inhaled and ended up choking on the roll in his mouth.

“Shit. Stiles,” Scott cried and darted forward to smack the boy on the back. The boy, Stiles- what sort of names was Stiles?- coughed a few times before he sucked in a lung-full of air. 

Derek just looked at them both like they were insane. This was Scott’s friend? The human friend? Good god it was worse then he thought.

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” Stiles said, pushing away a worrying Scott. Then within the next heartbeat he was okay and standing on his own and everything. “Who’s tall, dark and scary?” he asked and licked his lips.

“This is Derek Hale,” Scott said slowly.

“Hale? Hale like from the Hale family back home?” Stiles asked.

“Yeah.”

“Oh,” somehow Derek got the impression he was only holding in a whole slew of words on sheer force of will alone. “What’s he doing here?”

“I got lost, he found me, brought me back here,” Scott said, an amazingly simplified version but he doubted Scott wanted his friend to know he was being a bit bullied by some strange werewolves.

“And now I’m leaving,” Derek said and with that did indeed turn and walk away.

“He’s scary,” Stiles said in several long tones, not quite waiting till Derek was a polite distance away for werewolf ears to not pick up.

“He’s fine,” Scott said, speaking softer, even though he knew Derek could hear. 

“Still scary,” Stiles insisted.

“You’re just easily intimidated.”

“Says the werewolf.”

“Shut up Stiles,” and then the door was being closed. Derek just rolled his eyes to himself.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo. Sorry for the wait, you've been very patient with me. Should have some more updates soon, was at a bit of a loss on what I was doing =u=

It was the full moon. 

The entire palace was always slightly jumpy on the night of the full moon and the day before and after, when the pull of the moon was the strongest. The Lycan clan was given a large berth usually and kingdoms who had any displeasure with Naflica and her allowment of werewolves held their protests during Howling Nights. Ambassadors especially were leery and didn’t speak with a werwolf unless it was absolutely required, knowing better then to temp one of the wolves. All of the werewolves in the palace were either knights, in training to be knights, or important dignitaries or Alphas. They had a fine control of their shift, but no one wanted to test to see how far that control went during the nights of the full moon.

The members of their clan were sectioned off into small packs during the full moon, Alphas forming temporary packs that usually held during the rest of the month as well, though the ones in it still belonged to their real pack, the one they were born into, because no wolf wanted to be alone during the full moon. It was just sad, and lonesome.

Derek belonged to the pack under Sir Finstock, with the rest of the squires who didn’t have a knight, who usually belonged to the main knight pack at the palace led by the head Alpha who also oversaw all knightly training as well as controlled the entire branch of the Lycan clan within the capital. Even those who didn’t live in the palace. He was the most powerful Alpha for miles and miles around, though his pack was always temporary, knights swearing into his pack only when they were in the palace. But that was still dozens of knights. It was the biggest pack Derek had ever seen that allowed this sort of fluid dynamic with its members, temporary or not, as most packs were only a few families, two dozen at most, or as few as five.

He could feel the pull of the moon under his skin, a slow, rolling sensation that he’d heard compared to regaining your land legs after being at sea for a while. Derek didn’t know personally, he’d never been to the sea, though Naflica bordered the sea to the west, it’s entire western border meeting the sea which at the north was cold even in the summer, and in the south was warm even in the winter. He tugged off his shirt and changed his pants and boots to sturdy leather, though soft and flexible at the same time.

There was a knock on the door, “You done preening in there Hale?” Travis called through the door. Derek opened the door right into Travis’ face and was satisfied at the sound it made against his nose. “Asshole,” Travis spat at him, growling and flashing fang as he lost hold of himself. Derek narrowed his eyes at him as he closed his door. Like Derek Travis was stripped to the waist, as were the other squires, except Erica, who went out in a tight band holding her breasts in. And they were some seriously ample breasts too, there was a lot to hold in. 

He pushed aside the thought of breasts and walked away from Travis who was rubbing his nose, even as it healed, heading for the courtyard that opened out to the practice fields, and beyond there the lawn that surrounded the palace, and the forest beyond that.

Sir Finstock was waiting for them in the courtyard. There were a little less then a dozen of them and they stood in a semi circle around the knight, they were all dressed as Derek and Travis, who were some of the last to arrive.

From across the semi circle Erica smiled at him, batting her eyelashes. He looked away with a roll of his eyes. She’d been trying to catch his interest nearly as soon as he’d been dumped here and he’d established his dominance at the top of the pack, under Sir Finstock. He wasn’t interested. She was beautiful, highly intelligent, and clever, but also incredibly venomous. He supposed that wasn’t a bad thing though, and she wasn’t an awful girl. But she was interested in power, and on Derek’s arm she’d have _some_ of that power she craved. Travis next to him made a come-on face to her. She was instantly repelled and looked away, folding her arms across her chest. Derek couldn’t deny her this at least; she had an exceptional taste in men.

Finally the last few squires arrived, the moon was rising in the east, up over the trees though none of them moved to embrace it. Not yet. Then, to the west, a wolf howled, a _huge_ wolf, the head Alpha at the palace. It was like the pull of the moon, a siren song that few were immune to and Derek felt himself wolf out, embracing himself, his whole self and threw back his head; all across the palace grounds the wolves howled. The Howling Nights had begun.

—

It was both primal and sophisticated, the full moon. The clan had a very ridged pecking order based on the strength of your pack as well as the standing you had in the palace. Primal because they were creatures driven by instinct. They always were, because no matter what form they might take they were always wolves, and wolves were primal, brutal creatures.

He could hear others in the woods, running, twigs snapping under foot, kicking up dead leaves. It was spring and the past few days there had been heavy rain. The world was new and fresh and smelled of both new and rotting vegetation and the thick scent of dirt. Derek raced at the front of the pack, just behind Sir Finstock, the others rippling forms of flesh behind them. They were all headed to one place, and all the packs were headed there as well before they dispersed for the night, each pack leading itself.

The big clearing they were headed for was five miles from the palace, a good warmup, and barely noticeable when it came to distance for their kind. They devoured the distance with ease, sometimes straight sprinting, or jogging, but never getting ahead of Sir Finstock.

As they ran Travis tugged the back of his pants and he knew it was Travis because Travis always started this. ‘It’ was the wordless declaration and Derek spun at once and while Travis had already darted away one of the other squired wasn’t quite fast enough. But seemingly he was _too_ fast, without the reaction time to catch himself. “Oops,” Derek said when he ended up grabbing Erica’s breasts.

She looked down at his hands, back up to him, and the pack laughed as he quickly tore his hands away. “Now is not the time for play,” Sir Finstock barked, “now get a move on pups.” Derek didn’t show his embarrassment and quickly turned away from Erica who was actually smiling.

Travis ran up beside him as they got closer to the big clearing. He eyed Travis as they ran and then once they left the forest he tackled the other werewolf without warning. This was a free area and since they’d reached their destination he knew Sir Finstock wouldn’t call them to as rigid a heel. He pinned Travis quickly, “You did that on purpose,” he growled at his sometimes friend.

Travis smiled cheekily, “You’re the one who coped a feel,” and winced a little when Derek dug his claws into his shoulder. “Yeah okay maybe,” he admitted tightly, voice slightly pained.

“Don’t do it again.”

“Yeah, or what?” Travis said with a grin but whimpered when Derek dug his claws deeper into his flesh. “Okay okay, just stop,” and Derek eased up. “I won’t,” he promised and Derek released him.

“Good,” he said as he stood up as Travis rolled onto his back with a groan, showing his belly to Derek. Derek offered him a hand and Travis sat up, grabbing it and Derek helped him up, the slight hurts on his shoulders were already mostly healed. He shoved Travis forward and into the clearing properly. The other squire stumbled just a little before catching proper footing and they went to the meeting.

—

Like every full moon the younger wolfs found the monthly meeting boring. It didn’t really apply to them since it was for Alphas and adults really. The pack of squires swelled from their normal number to those who actually had a knight but had found their comrades in the back of the clearing. The Lycan pages stayed away from the squires though, still too young to be accepted into their group, even the older ones. It was just a class thing and no squire would actually welcome a page into their group.

“You smell that?” one of them asked, Derek wasn’t sure of his name, they weren’t part of Sir Finstock’s pack.

“Smell what?” Liam, one of theirs, asked.

“Blood,” they said after a second. With that word the entire mix of squires tipped their heads up, scenting.

“I smell it too,” Derek said. But he seemed to be one of the few, as most of them couldn’t.

“Should we check it out?” Travis asked, he’d also been able to smell it.

“Well, we all can’t, they’d notice if we left,” another said. They were all keeping their voices down, so the adults wouldn’t hear them.

“Those who can smell it should, that’s what? Five of us?” the first squire said, the one who’d originally scented the blood. There was a quick agreement and they left the clearing, nearly on all fours, the others covered for them. The meeting would go on for a while, they had time.

“So which way?” Travis asked once they were out of actual hearing distance.

The smell was feint, it was a distance away, but very clearly _there_. They scented the air but it was so feint it was hard to get a read. “We should split up, each of us take a direction, two of us will go around the clearing and check on the other side, just in case,” said the original scenter.

“I’ll take east,” another said.

“South.”

“West,” Derek grunted.

“Me and Clay will head north then,” Travis said. Well, at least he had a name for the original scenter.

“If you find anything… well, you know,” and Clay smirked at them. They nodded and separated.

Derek headed dead west moving quickly. The scent didn’t change and then suddenly the wind changed. As in, it stilled. He froze, scanning the dark woods which was washed silver in the moonlight. The wind moved slowly again and he shifted fully, needing full use of his already keen sense of smell and hearing and night vision. The world was washed over with a soft hint of red but everything had much sharper contrasts, things were easier to see in a red light. 

He sniffed again and now with the slow wind the scent seemed to swirl around him like a miasma. It was stronger here then in the clearing, that was for sure. So it was near, but not _too_ _near_. He set off, now slightly south west, following his nose.

The scent was getting stronger and he started to move faster. He was closer to the city now, and knew if he kept moving as he was he’d run into the lower city. But then he veered a bit more north, nearly giving himself whiplash when he suddenly seemed _right on top of it_.

One problem though.

There was nothing around.

Scowling at nothing Derek tried to find the source. The wind was still lazy, the scent all around him, but it suddenly seemed especially strong. He could practically _taste_ the blood on his tongue and it made him shake his head.

Focus. 

He had to focus. He couldn’t be distracted by the smell of blood. That was sometimes the fear, why biting was illegal unless a magistrate gave the go ahead when the bitten had to sign a contract saying that they would obey all werewolf laws, and the biter was responsible for the bitten. Not to mention if they _died_ the biter couldn’t be prosecuted. But, they were still driven by instinct, and blood, or weak creatures could drive them to hunt, to bite, and at times, if they had a bad grip on themselves, drunk on the moon or an Alpha’s presence, even _eat_ their prey. The thought of _eating_ someone though sickened Derek. It did most werewolves.

Distracted again.

Focus.

Find the source.

He closed his eyes, which were now distracting him. His scenes of smell was always better then his sight, or his hearing even. Just like a real wolf werewolf noses were powerful, obviously since he was a good mile away from the clearing, and they’d picked up that slight scent of blood.

A different picture was built in his mind. A scent picture. He could ‘see’ the trees around him, and the ground and the leaves above. A rabbit was sleeping in a den under the ground. There were birds in their nests with their eggs, sleeping. A mouse scurried along the fallen leaves.

Then. There! He turned his head slowly, the scent picture changed. He could practically see it, like it was real.

He opened his eyes again and bounded a good fifty feet to his right. He found a big, hollow, log. One side was covered in moss and it smelled of rot, decay, and blood. But more importantly, it smelled of _human_. “Hello?” he called. He knew they were alive, he could hear their heart beating. But were they awake?

The person jolted and suddenly tried to crawl deeper into the log. With a growl Derek grabbed their leg. Oh no. He was _not_ chasing them. Not on a full moon. Not even _he_ could guarantee he wouldn’t get carried away on a full moon. No one could. It was why humans _stayed inside_. Howling Nights were dangerous for everyone, even his clan. They could break the laws, if they did they’d be hunted. None of them wanted that.

“Lemmie go!” they cried as he dragged them out into the open. “Oh god please, please let me go,” they sobbed.

“Oh shut up,” Derek rolled his eyes. They just curled up around themselves, arms above their head. “Hey,” he shook them a little. “Are you hurt?” they just whimpered. “Oh for moon’s sake,” he sighed and pulled at his mouth before realizing he was still wolfed out, that should explain their panic. He shook his head abruptly, drawing himself back. His vision weakened, he couldn’t hear a pair of mice mating several paces away (thank god), and the scent image that overlaid his normal sight faded away. “I’m not going to hurt you,” Derek grunted. “Are you hurt?”

Slowly, they pulled their hands away from their face and he could get a look at them. It was a kid. Well, teenager. Younger then Derek at least; kid. They looked _terrified_ , with bloodshot eyes, his lip was busted, he had more then one bruise on his face, and he could see more bruising going up his arms. It looked like he’d been attacked. Meekly, he nodded. “You’re a knight?” he asked, voice shaky.

“Yes,” not _technically_ , but technicalities could wait for later when he wasn’t dealing with a terrified, beaten, human teenager.

“Oh thank god,” he sighed in relief.

“Did one of us do this to you?” he asked, they shook his head. “Who? And what’s your name?” right, priorities Derek, how was that not his first question?

“I-Isaac,” the human said.

“Okay, Isaac,” he didn’t know any Isaacs. “Who did this to you?”

He was about to answer when suddenly, from the clearing, there was a howl. His head shot up and he turned in the direction of the clearing. Shit, the meeting was over. He looked at Isaac who was staring at him with big eyes. He couldn’t let another find him, not now. The meeting was over, they let loose after the meeting. It was their time to be as nature had intended; wild. They’d smell blood, see a weakling. Isaac wouldn’t make it till morning by himself. Not when there were other wolves about, ones who weren’t knights, or those with the super fine control they had. He briefly remembered Scott.

Shit.

“What’s that?” Isaac asked.

“Trouble,” Derek cursed. “C’mon,” and he helped Isaac to his feet. The kid couldn’t stay upright on his own very well. Without asking he grabbed Isaac and threw him over his shoulder. Thankfully Isaac only gave a small yelp of protest, though seemed to realize, no, he wasn’t about to get eaten, or killed, or hurt. Well that was something at least. He headed towards the palace.


End file.
